


Where's My Mind? / (No Vindication For The Damned)

by Goffy



Series: Bellyache [3]
Category: Cirque du Freak | The Saga of Darren Shan - Darren Shan
Genre: Other, minor self harm mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goffy/pseuds/Goffy
Summary: Inspired by Billie Eillish's song "Bellyache", this mini-series with short chapters (each named after a lyric) focuses on Steve Leonard and his transformation into what he became (alongside minor interactions with other characters, no dialogue.) This is written from a psychological perspective and aims to study the character in more depth.
Series: Bellyache [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018588
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Where's My Mind? / (No Vindication For The Damned)

**Author's Note:**

> this has a "double" title because while it started out as a "where's my mind" thing it soon turned into something else. i didn't change it because i quite like the way it turned out (well, majority of it.) slight, brief mentions of self harm. in case you need the translation of Lacrimosa (in italics) it'll be at the end notes. if possible, i think it will be an enjoyable reading experience if you listen to Lacrimosa but "L0users" version on youtube <3  
> (also, i know i have that one phrase/word i love sticking to kindly overlook it. and ugh, why do i write so much about "zoned out" states :/)

Only when the beads of cold drops puddled on the concrete did he come into consciousness.

He stopped in his tracks, head still hung, focusing on the spirals rippling through the small pools littering the pavement. When he had confirmed he wasn’t seeing things, he looked up.  
Indeed, the skies were dismal, clouds of gloom hung over the city, threatening to burst and release their misery onto the world below. Beside him, a car with rolled down windows blurred past, children were sticking their heads out and shrieking with joy as the cold pellets from above splashed onto their faces and scattered into tiny prickling shards.  
Steve watched silently as the car drove into the distance, taking with it the noise of laughter that had rung over the sorrowful drizzling. Misery was but a shapeshifting trickster, appearing different to everyone. And children....Misery was sometimes kinder to them, like a witch, to fatten them up and devour them whole when they were ready.

When the rain became harsher in it’s descent, he was still wandering aimlessly along the looming trees on either side of the road that arched over the pavement. He could hear the the whistles and whispers of the leaves. They called to him. He saw faces move in their darkened wood, he saw the branches grow towards him, welcoming him to the soil in which they were buried.

He wondered whether to accept the gentle invitation and let himself be carried into the world of the trees, where they’d hold him close, vines and branches tying him eternally to the Earth.

Just when he started to entertain the idea, his phone buzzed, pulling his mind out of the woods. Steve pulled the interruption out of his pocket to look at the caller ID, knowing fully well who it would be.

His mother’s name popped up on the screen. He stared at it, waited for the phone to stop ringing, and then played the voicemail she’d left- as per the habit that had become routine. As much as he hated to admit, there was something in the woman’s voice that brought him a strange sense of comfort. He’d never been able to understand it, mostly because he never tried to. But as of late, he didn’t quite think about anything except...well, about the roots, and the soil, and the trees.

Her voice was shaking- as it did whenever she was worried. Steve focused on her sound, not her words, closing his eyes and breathing slowly, feeling the vibrations from her voice blanket him from the rain. This comforting warmth, was this what a mother’s arms felt like? Had his mother ever held him like this? Had he ever let her?

Shaking words, spoken frantically, spilled out of the phone and into his ears, but he didn’t care what message they had this time. It was always the same. Where are you? Are you okay? Please come home.

He began walking forward again, switching his phone off and slipping it into his pocket after it fell silent.  
He passed a small path opening into the trees, and he originally had no intention of following it.  
But that is when he heard it. 

_Lacrimosa dies illa_

Music. Not like the noise that played on the radio, it was different...it felt...well, sacred. As if in a dream, Steve felt his steps linger, hover, then turn towards the path and continue down it on their own. He tried to stop himself, but there was almost an otherworldly force pulling him. But no, how could he, such a vile being, even try to find solace in what was meant to be pure. Of course, he didn’t believe in much of the nonsense the world preached...but some things just felt Divine. And he usually steered away from them, for a soul so corrupted would surely infect everything around it.

An edifice came into view; a tall, ancient Church. It’s aged walls brought a sense of beauty and grace to it, and the most attractive thing beside the song soaking through it’s stained glass was the fact that it had an air of solitude. Whether or not there were people in there, Steve felt as though he had been transported to another realm where time simply ceased to be, and it was only him and the hymns of heaven.

_Qua resurget ex favilla_

Unable to resist, he went inside.  
Upon entering, he noted that the building had looked smaller from the outside. There were numerous rows of pews, mostly vacant and bathed in a soft rain of colors that descended from the stained clerestories above. All the way at the end, on a small platform a bit higher than the church floor was the choir.

Steve settled quietly at the end, basking in the sheer allure of it all, momentarily forgetting about the trees and their awaiting arms.

_Judicandus homo reus_

An environment stuffed so thickly of messages of a higher being, humanity’s mission, and the duality of man would no doubt eventually make someone ponder of their own place and role in the narrative. And that is what Steve did; he pondered. As he'd come to find, hope was an odd state of existence, for it came in such odd places at such odd times. But it was appreciated, nonetheless, for just a trickle of it had illuminated his mind, blinding him from the things he didn’t want to believe. 

Ever since that man had pointed at his heart and declared it warped, he had believed it to be true. He needed no proof, he was aware there was something wrong with him. But of course, who would want to admit such a thing about themselves?  
Every day, every night, every passing moment he had tried to scrub himself clean of the evil within him, he tried everything he could. He washed his hands till they dried and bled, he wounded himself so he could bleed, in hopes of eventually draining the infection out of him-- but it never worked. That guilt he carried for his existence would never lift, and that was when he was sure he was cursed to live a damned life, and he would damn everything he ever touched, like he always had.  
But now, revived by hope, he felt the burden melt off his shoulders and for the first time in a long time, he forgot entirely of that man, and the soil, and the trees. Perhaps the Divine would be merciful, and acknowledge the fact that he was aware and didn’t approve of his faults.

_Huic ergo parce, Deus:  
Pie Jesu Domine,  
Dona eis requiem. Amen._

When the choir ended, Steve walked out of the Church a changed man. An older woman had gotten up and left just when he had, and as it turned out, they synced in their exit, although not in spirit. He was joyous, she was in sharp contrast.

They walked comfortably beside one another to the exit, and perhaps it was the time they’d spent together in the Church or the silence that sounded friendly and open that prompted her to ask him why he was smiling. Steve shrugged, shaking his head. He asked why she was so forlorn.  
And so a conversation began, both of them stopped in the graveyard beside the lonely path. The way her words tumbled out of her mouth, it seemed as though the weight in her heart had suffocated her and it had only been lifted now. He knew how that felt. She too was ashamed of who she was, the things she’d done and the things she had yet to do. Steve tried to talk to her of repentance, of the Divine, but she only threw her head back and laughed dryly. Her dark hair cast shadows onto her face, deepening the creases time had brought, making Steve realize she had been locked in the battle much longer than him-- and she had not found peace, so was it foolish or wise of him to have found it first?

She did not believe in forgiveness, because she knew some souls just weren’t worthy. Some people were corrupted at their cores, and the Divine had already cursed them all to Hell, and there was nothing they could do to change that. And it wasn’t herself that came to the conclusion, she had been assured by every high authority in every religion she went to that for evil souls, there truly was no redemption.

At some point, she had parted from him. He didn’t notice when.

The light that had blinded him from what he didn’t wish to know had dimmed until it was no more, and he was suddenly aware of the scars lining his body, they burned, and the voice of that man rang loud and clear in his head, reminding him just what he was.

Then he heard them.  
The soil and the trees.  
They were calling out to him.

**Author's Note:**

> (Lacrimosa)  
> "Full of tears will be that day  
> When from the ashes shall arise  
> The guilty man to be judged;  
> Therefore spare him, O God,  
> Merciful Lord Jesus,  
> Grant them eternal rest. Amen."
> 
> Hmm..boy, for someone disgusted by a lot of religion stuff i sure looove religious writing. Trees and their inviting arms, calling you to the soil? Don't go, it's a made-up symbol for death though i bet some other authors have already used it. glass represents both something strong and something fragile, and i focused on the glass so much not only because i love using glass/mirrors in writing and because im obsessed with stained glass, but also because Steve's character has a duality of fragility/strength to it.


End file.
